Howell stepped back off the doorstep having banged the brass knocker twice, and wiped the rain from his face. The door jerked open, no light in the narrow hallway but he could make out an old woman, her floral work pinny drawn tightly across her body, her grey hair braided and tucked behind her ears, pinned into a bun above the nape of her neck.
"Yes?" She was brusk, strangers weren't common in the village, weren't welcome at this time of night, she held onto the door meaning to slam it shut if necessary.
"Is Bethany at home?"
"Bethany?"
He pulled a soggy piece of paper from the pocket of his oilskin coat.
"I'm told she lives here." He peered at the dissolving writing. "Number 83?" She nodded.
"Number 83." She confirmed, he stuffed the wet paper back in the pocket, his patience eroded by the rain.
"I've come a long way."
"So I hear." She was trying to work out what intrigued her about this sailor, with his tanned face and red hair. "So I see."
"Where is she then, is the address wrong?"
"She used to live here but not now." He tried to keep his temper.
"Then where?"
"Who are you?" Howell wiped the rain from his face again.
"I'm her son." The old lady's hand jerked upwards, fingers covering her mouth. "From Argentina." The other hand pressed against her breastbone. The red head, the green eyes, yes that was why she half knew the stranger, without doubts he was Bethany's boy, the image of her, but she'd never said about any child.
"Where will I find her? Bethany, where is she now?"
"Number 30, the other side, but.." He'd not waited for the warning but was gone, slinging a duffel across his back, away across the empty road, into the darkness with the rain.
Outside Number 30 was a wall with a upright row of flints, sharp as sharks teeth on the top, a light snapped on in the hall in response to Howell's knock.
When the door opened he saw her, Bethany, his mother, with a peeling wallpaper decorated with roses behind her, a worn red carpet beneath her blue slippers, wearing a peach coloured cable knitted cardigan, with tiny red buttons.
On seeing him, her green eyes widened in surprise, she froze for a moment and then gave a furtive glance over her shoulder back into the house, so her red hair shone momentarily in the streetlights. She pushed him away from the threshold and half closed the door behind her.
"Howell?" She whispered disbelievingly.
"Mammy." She hushed him and pulled the door further closed, then stuffed her hands into the tiny pockets of the cardy.
"You can't be here." She whispered, her eyes flicking about this man who she'd last seen as a baby.
"But I am. I came to find you, I.." She tried to hush him again and a man's voice shouted from inside.
"Who is it Bethan?" She inched the door open.
"No-one, no mind."
"Get yourself in then, there's a roaring draught coming in." She started to go inside but Howell caught her arm.
"I came to find you, all this way, I need..." She threw his hand off and hid behind the door as the shouting started again.
"I have to go, You must go." He pressed his hand hard against the door so she couldn't close it.
"I I have a present for you." He called desperately, pulling a box from the duffel bag "I thought of you when it played, I remembered you singing, that was my memory of you, my mother who held me in her arms, if only when I was dreaming." He forced the box through the gap and then stepped away, the door banged shut and he heard the lock turn, then a bolt slide.
Caspian was performing his infamous card trick, twisting the Queen of Diamonds in an elaborate dance around the 7 fingers of his mutilated hands. 3 men lined up on bar stools watched attentively, a pile of money between them and the Frenchman. Caspian slapped the card face down and invited the barman to pick it up.
He did so and burst into laughter, showing the Ace of Spades to the audience. One took the card as thought inspecting it would explain the trick, while another applauded and the third thumped Caspian on the shoulder in admiration. Caspian scooped up the money.
"I'll have whatever that is," he pointed at the row of light ale pints the men all had before them "a double whiskey and a saucer of milk." Then he opened a Gladstone bag he'd tucking at his feet, and extracted the sleepy stripy cat.
There was a rough gust of wind from the entrance and Howell reentered the bar and crossed to join his shipmate, he was dripping rain from the oilskin but didn't take it off, just sat and stared forwards. The cat, placed on the bar stretched out it's back legs and meowed when presented with the saucer of milk.
"You were not gone long." Caspian observed and raised his glass of ale to thank his benefactors.
"No." Howell replied smartly and took a gulp on the whiskey.
"I warned you." Caspian ran his hand down the back of the cat, who continued to lick up the milk but arched it's spine elegantly, tail erect.
"You did." Howell drank the last of the whiskey and ruffled the cold wet rain from his hair. The barman approached and wiped some of the damp from the bartop.
"What's you cat called?" He asked.
"Galilee." Caspian replied.
"Galilee?"
"Like the sea, In my family we are all named after seas. I am Caspian, this is Galilee, and this," He jerked his one thumb at Howell, "is Dead." The barman laughed and went away down the bar, just as the door opened allowing in another blast of cold air.
The old lady from number 83 closed an umbrella, propping it against a hatstand. She made an eye sweep of the bar until she found Howell and walked over pulling an object from under her blue anorak.
"She can' t take it." She placed a battered box on the bar, seeing Howell again in the light she looked close to tears, "I'm sorry." She muttered as she hurried away.
Howell pulled the box towards him. It looked rough, corners rounded, the gloss of the lacquer worn away by months at sea. He pushed it along the bar to Caspian, as he rose from the bar stool and swung his duffel over his shoulder.
"For our friendship." Caspian made no protest.
"Where will you go?" He called but there was only a cold blast of the rain and wind from the door in reply. In the silence of the bar, everyone waited for someone else to ask what had just happened. Then in a low voice Caspian told them the old tale of a Dutchman who travelled the seas eternally, in search of a true heart.
(For start of story see Madigan)